


Isolation

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Pandemics, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23119450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: Malcolm gets trapped in his loft when the NYPD decides he's non-essential personnel, and he's not allowed in the precinct. Gil stops by to visit him.For Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt Touch Starved.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Comments: 16
Kudos: 125
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Isolation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elated_witch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elated_witch/gifts).



Malcolm gets trapped in his loft when the NYPD decides he's non-essential personnel, and he's not allowed in the precinct; a designation he fights, arguing he's pretty damn needed, but loses when Gil's boss shoos him home for insubordination. He'd walk the streets seeking anything of interest, but those are on the list of no's too. So are the parks, the trains, any place large groups of people can congregate. Which to Malcolm means anywhere in New York.

Months of planning for things to get worse, but he wasn’t expecting this. They’d limit really big events in Madison Square Garden, Times Square; sports and concerts, not his ability to work a case. Not shuttering most workplaces and campuses, not changing everyday life. Not altering _his_ life.

He could go to the market and stock up on provisions, but perhaps germs would travel home with him. Doesn’t seem close to important, as he’s not much of a shopper or an eater anyway. He could go for a run, but he wants to wander wherever his legs feel like taking him, and that might include more people than he’s comfortable around. His legs don’t feel like going out. He could go to the bar, but replacing working with drinking is too close to his mother for comfort, and there’s still too many opportunities for contact. Every place he thinks of directs toward one conclusion: he needs to stay in.

He’s not quarantined because he’s not sick, doesn’t know anyone who is sick, hasn’t knowingly been in contact with someone who has the illness. But at work, they’re around the general public every day, and testing hasn’t been as readily accessible as he expects. How could he possibly know if he’s been exposed or not? The question adds a new layer of thoughts that keep him from sleeping.

When his mother learns he’s home, she assumes the worst. “I’m fine,” he repeats multiple times, telling her to stay home. “You don’t need to be out in this either,” he rationalizes, trying to do anything to keep her out of his space.

But he doesn’t need to try very hard. Though she argues nothing can stand in her way, employees get her anything she needs, and a private car takes her to the few events she accepts. His loft stays noticeably silent.

Five days of self-isolation trying to avoid the pandemic, and Malcolm's pacing the wood floors seeking any escape. Gil talks to him on the phone every day, but it's not the same. Even his therapist is running on a limited schedule, and he doesn't want to talk through his concerns on the phone. His pent-up thoughts have nowhere to go.

So when his intercom rings and Gil says "hey, kid," he's ecstatic to let him up. He opens the door and pulls Gil into a hug, Malcolm's head resting against Gil's shoulder. "Hey, kid," Gil repeats again, patting his back. "Give me a second to wash my hands."

Gil disappears into the bathroom. Malcolm moves to the kitchen, starting water for tea. As soon as Gil returns, his hand is on the back of Malcolm's neck, massaging through some of the stress. "How you doin'?" Gil asks, feeling the tension under his fingers.

"It's been...pretty rough," Malcolm admits, chuckling.

"Dani's got masks on everyone at the precinct." Unnecessary, his boss argues, but he needs his detective on the job and has read too many conflicting articles himself, so he lets them stay.

"Watching out for the family." Malcolm smiles. She could have had a second calling in social work.

"So I'm here for you." Gil squeezes Malcolm’s neck and lets go.

Malcolm misses the contact immediately and busies his hands to cover his disappointment. “Can I interest you in a movie?" Malcolm asks while pouring hot water into his mug.

"Sure."

“Something stronger than tea?” he offers before pouring a second mug.

"Best not suppress the immune system,” he declines. He’s been trying his best to listen to many of the precautions, look out for his team, and do his job.

"Watching too much news, Gil."

 _Says the shut-in_ , but it’s not an argument worth having; it’ll only leave Malcolm feeling worse. Gil accepts the mug that slides to him. “Can't be too careful at the precinct."

“You are in a higher risk bracket,” Malcolm notes as they walk toward the couch.

“Calling me old, kid?” Gil retorts, clapping Malcolm’s shoulder. “Should I remind you the state of your immune system, mister keels over at a germ?”

Malcolm shakes his head. The walls are a enough of a constant reminder. “No.”

Gil eases into the couch and Malcolm queues up _Die Hard_ , one of the first movies that pops in the list.

"As long as you don't decide to jump off any roofs,” Gil teases from the corner of the couch.

Malcolm gives Gil the side-eye and abandons the remote in signal that the movie will continue. He sits a little closer to Gil than usual and tucks his fidgeting fingers under his legs. The movie’s a background track, a distraction for the in betweens in conversation. Something to look at so they don’t need to face each other.

"Have you been able to get out for anything?" Gil wonders. Everyone’s activities seem to have been hindered. Gil can’t even get into the gym because they’re worried about foot traffic and frequent enough wipe down of the equipment.

"All of Gabrielle's appointments are remote now,” Malcolm answers a different question, as if Gil is supposed to fill in the blanks.

"Have you tried one?"

"No. It's...not my thing."

No outlet. No way to discuss and cope with a neutral third party. Not a good state for Malcolm. Gil doesn’t know what to do with the information, but he’s listening, not solving. ”So you haven't been out at all?" Gil surmises.

"No."

“Sounds a bit…lonely.”

Frustrating, overwhelming, knowing he’s probably overreacting and equally not doing enough. Watching his world shrink from a city to the fifty feet spanning his loft. Knowing he did it to himself, yet also not knowing what else to do. “Yeah.”

The movie continues, every now and then a question, an answer, a few more words closer to social than isolated. With a third of the movie left, Malcolm's head tips into Gil's shoulder.

"You can curl up - it's okay," Gil encourages.

Malcolm brings his feet up onto the couch. Gil pulls the blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over Malcolm.

"Sorry - it's been a tough few days,” Malcolm admits, his voice heavy with exhaustion. Gil’s calming presence and touch have been missed. Malcolm needs the contact with Gil so much so he’s a tad embarrassed. 

Gil chances a glance over him, finding his head leaning into the sweater at Gil’s shoulder, the rest of him swallowed in the blanket. ”No sorries, kid. Whatever you need. Always."

The movie ends and they both remain sitting. Malcolm's relaxed, but Gil knows he's not asleep.

"Do you want to stay at my place for a bit?” Gil invites as a suggestion to curtail some of the isolation.

"I can't leave Sunshine."

Gil tries plan b, “Do you want some company? I could bring some things here."

"Yes," Malcolm catches up to the offer, "sure."

They didn’t know how long it would be until restrictions could be lifted, and Gil couldn’t chance Malcolm turning his loft into a cave. ”Want some dinner?"

"I think I might sleep," he replies, but doesn't move to get up.

"Go ahead and rest. I'll be right here."

Malcolm drifts to the fuzzy wool under his cheek, light scent of cinnamon from deodorant, gentle breathing, and warmth of Gil permeating his life.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
